


Farewell When the Road Darkens

by infensi_floralibus



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infensi_floralibus/pseuds/infensi_floralibus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And though in all lands, love is now mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater." An attempt at a fitting reconciliation between two weathered and beaten souls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Farewell When the Road Darkens

**Author's Note:**

> You may have noticed that my writing walks a vague line between Philippa Gregory's interpretation of these historical characters and my own. I have tried to keep things a little hazy so that a wider range of people will be able to enjoy it - fitting it to their ideas.

The Queen’s chambers which had once been so full of life and gaiety under the reign of Edward and Elizabeth now stood dark and empty; all beauty and frivolity replaced with sombreness as though the court was already in mourning.

The dying Queen lay alone on the vast expanse of her bed, staring up at the canopy under which so many princes and princesses had been conceived and born. Her hair was loose like a bride awaiting her groom, but any colour to be seen in her cheeks was not the blush of youth but the mark of a fever. Sweat beaded on her forehead and throat with no gentle hand to dab it away for Anne had dismissed her ladies, not wishing to see their healthy faces or hear their scandalous rumours – the death of a queen, even a short lived one, was the cause of much stir within the court.  


The light was pale and cold but there was no dust to be seen in the air as there was no movement to disturb it; the room’s only occupant having not moved from the bed in many days. Every few hours a lady of the bedchamber would appear to check that the queen had not slipped away in her sleep, but no food was brought for her majesty would not touch it. They had dressed her in a snow white shift without the usual embroidered detail that would be found on a queen’s nightgown; it did not seem sensible to ruin a good gown on a dying woman, better to save it for the next queen – whoever she may be. With her fair hair about her face and dressed in the white shift, Anne appeared as a fallen angel; sickly with a birdlike fragility. Seeing her like this no one would have guessed that she was the first lady in the kingdom; daughter of the Kingmaker and twice married to royalty.  


The sickly somnambulist was roused from her drifting dreams by the sound of the lock dropping on the door, followed slowly, apprehensively, by boots on the wooden floorboards. Her mind was so adrift that at first she did not realise that it was not one of her maids coming to ascertain whether she was still on this earth; but then it occurred to her sluggishly that these footsteps were far too heavy for one of her ladies, and they paused far too long. Anne could sense that someone was standing at the foot of the carved bed but it was only when the moment had dragged for some time that she made the effort to open the heavy lids of her eyes.  


She had expected one of her ladies, perhaps one of the young ones who were still fascinated by the macabre, come to stare at her dying mistress. Perhaps even the Lady Elizabeth gloating in her final triumph. But what she hadn’t expected was Richard, who looked almost equally pale; a condition not helped by his choice of dark clothing. They stared at each other for an age, the air thick between them as it only can be between those who have shared great hardship and suffering.  


“Have you come to say goodbye?” Anne asked finally, her voice far huskier than it had ever been in health.  


“I do hope not.” Her dark husband replied quietly.  


“Then I think you shall be disappointed.” Anne’s eyes fluttered shut and her chest tremored as she sucked in a great breath, even these few words cost her a great deal of strength.  


“Anne, I-” Richard began in an earnest tone, but he was cut off by his wife’s quiet yet firm voice.  


“It is not a grief to me, to be leaving this world. There are many people in that Promised Land that I would very much like to see again.” Her smile was a tad bitter but her words rang true. There was a long pause in which Richard watched his frail wife, his head cocked a little to the side as he observed her. Then,  


“Is there nothing left here, for you?” he asked softly. Anne paused to study the still hard lines of his face, as yet unsoftened by time or age, and thought how handsome he still looked. His inky hair was longer than it had ever been when they were children and his skin seemed even paler, a stark contrast with his icy eyes. Their years of struggle seemed to have sharpened him, honed him into a glittering blade, whilst Anne in contrast felt like a rock worn down by the tide.  


“No, I think not.” She said finally.  


Richard breathed out sharply and looked away, leaning against the carved bed post with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other.  


“Truly? _Truly_ , Anne?! You think nothing of leaving me behind?” She was surprised by the passion in his voice, its volume shattering the stillness in the room. She swallowed thickly and breathed as deeply as she could, even as she felt her lungs withering within her.  


“It would be best, for both of us.” Her voice was reed thin now and Anne had to force down the increasing tightness in her chest. “You...you need a queen who is not barren... you need an heir to secure York’s line,” she began to cough but struggled on, “I have always done my best... to play my part...but now I am ready to see our little Ned, and Isabel” cough “father, even George” The stiffness in her chest now overtook her and Anne began to cough in earnest, struggling to breath as her chest contracted. Her mouth filled with vile blood and bile, and with no maid to hold a bowl to her chapped lips Anne spewed out her lung’s contents over the side of the bed, smattering the rushes and the bed linen with startling scarlet. The force of the attack robbed her of all sensation except the struggle to breathe and her vision blacked out. She slowly came back to herself and was surprised to find a reassuring hand rubbing her back, firm fingers running over the pumps of her spine.  


“Anne, _Anne?_ ” Richard whispered earnestly, brushing her hair back from her face. His eyes were wide with alarm, almost bordering on panic, and Anne realised with a twinge in her already aching chest that she was truly surprised by her husband’s display of concern.  


“I am fine” she muttered, slumping back against the ruined pillows. His brow furrowed as he replied,  


“Of course you’re not, let me move you.” Anne began to protest as he drew back the covers but he continued, “You will be more comfortable,” closing all discussion as he put one arm beneath her knees and another around her back. “Put you arms around my neck,” he ordered quietly, and for the first time in months she was in his embrace as he lifted her from the stained sheets. Anne took the chance, perhaps her last, to stroke and smooth the mass of dark curls at the nape of his neck. _This, this she would miss, she thought_.  


There was nowhere else to set her down other than the other side, the clean side, of the bed, but Richard did it with such tenderness that Anne had not seen in him in a long time that tears gathered in her eyes. “Are you in any discomfort?” he asked, tucking the bedding in around her.  


“Not anymore,” Anne murmured as he took her spindly hand in his large, warm ones, marvelling at how soft they were even after years of sword practice.  
“Anne-” he began, licking his lips as he gathered his words, “I am sorry I didn’t come sooner.” He didn’t name the estrangement between them but they both silently acknowledged its presence.  


“You are King, you have many important matters to attend, it would be unseemly for you to be always at my bedside. Besides, half the court believes you have poisoned me.” Richard’s look of incredulity was worth a thousand words, and though Anne had not believed it for one second, if she had this would have been enough to dispel the idea forever. “You are surprised that I hear these things? I may not be Queen Elizabeth but I do have my ears in court.”  


“You do not- you cannot believe it, surely?!” Richard gasped, his mouth parted in horror, “You are my wife, my duchess, my queen! I would never lay a finger of harm on you!”  


“Be assured that I discounted these rumours as the nonsense they are.” Anne said, and Richard sagged with relief, resting his forehead against her shoulder.  


“I am sorry,” he murmured into the clammy, cool skin of her collarbone, “I am sorry for the distance that has come between us. I am sorry... for everything.” He still did not meet her gaze but his hands squeezed hers tightly.  


“And I forgive you.” Anne whispered, as fervently as prayer, “I believe we failed each other. I have not fulfilled my duties as a wife-”  


“No, no,” Richard interrupted, pulling back to look her in the eye. One of his hands released hers to run his thumb across the arch of her cheekbone, “You have been the best of wives.” Anne sighed and leaned into his touch, so familiar and yet too long absent.  


“It is strange; I have achieved all that my father wanted for me. I am Queen; our son was Prince of Wales, and yet it hasn’t brought us happiness.”  


“But it wasn’t all terrible.” Richard said, dropping a kiss on their joined hands.  


“No,” Anne agreed with a wistful smile, running her hand across his crop of unruly hair, “It wasn’t all terrible. But I would have been happy to remain your duchess forever – up north, with our boy.”  


“You and Ned have been the only certainties in my life,” said Richard hoarsely, “and losing you both... it is like losing a limb”.  


“We shall be together in paradise.” Anne reassured him, and Richard saw that small, sad, faraway smile he had hoped never to see on her lips again.  


“I will pray for it nightly”, he promised and Anne released a breath she didn’t realise she had been holding.  


“Lie with me.” She said quietly, softly patting the empty space beside her. Richard swiftly rose from his kneeling position by her bedside and crawled across the bed to gather her in his arms, almost making her giggle as memories of their first summer as a couple resurfaced. She settled her cheek against his heart and sighed in her contentment.  


They lay like that for some time, their breathing unconsciously falling into a shared rhythm, neither wishing to break this strange and new peace.  


“Richard,” Anne murmured at length, “I am on my deathbed, so please answer me truly.” She felt her husband of so many years stiffen slightly beside her, fearing what question could be so important as to be asked now. “Do you love me?”  


“I-,” he began, confused and thrown by the suddenness of the question. He pulled back so that he could look her straight in the eye, “I beg of you darling Anne, never doubt my feelings again. These rumours about myself and the Lady Elizabeth, you know they are only to discredit the pretender-”  


Anne pressed a thin finger to his lips to halt his protest, and marvelled at the indignant blush that had spread across his cheeks.  


“It makes no difference either way. You love me, and that is the beginning and end of the matter.” Richard pulled her close, burying his face in her loose hair, and Anne found herself growing sleepy again, exhausted from the exertion of their talk.  


She drifted between sleep and wakefulness, until finally she opened her eyes to find the room was dark. “Is it night already?”  


“No,” Richard replied, his voice laced with worry. “Something is blocking out the sun.”  


“What?” Anne murmured groggily, wondering whether she was still dreaming.  


“Something has come over the face of the sun...” He rose from her side slowly, sliding from the bed to peer out the window, his brow creased in concern.  


The room grew as dark as night and without candlelight Richard was just a shadowy silhouette at the window. As she gazed upon her husband for the final time, Anne thought how unchanged he looked in this light from the youth she had runaway with so long ago. Her life had not been the fairytale she had once imagined, but she couldn’t find it in herself to regret any of her decisions.  


“It has passed,” Richard said eventually. “Do you think it is an omen for good or ill?”, but his only reply was hushed silence.  


“Anne?” he whispered softly, approaching the bed. His wife’s lily white face was upturned towards him, but her eyes were far away and an absent smile told him everything he feared.  


_Some said the eclipse of the sun was God marking the end of the Sons of York, but others, those who knew her intimately, would have told you a very different story._

**Author's Note:**

> I still don't feel I've found my stride again, writing wise, but please excuse and enjoy my paltry offerings (I may come back and edit later). My copy of The Sunne in Splendour is currently sitting in my local post office so I shall hopefully pick that up tomorrow morning - prepare for a possible shift in character interpretation.
> 
> (The quote in the summary is from Tolkien.)


End file.
